


In Tents

by Strbck23



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Camping, F/M, First Time, Post-Episode: s07e07 Orison, Tent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 17:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18474058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strbck23/pseuds/Strbck23
Summary: Mulder whisks Scully away after her second encounter with Donnie Pfaster.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks once again to WildwingSuz for beta-ing as fast as she could during a busy few days. Her dedication and attention to detail are, as always, greatly appreciated.

It’s Thursday night. My first night back in my apartment after Pfaster escaped and came after me. I'd stayed at my mother’s house for a few days up to this point as she was away visiting family. Mulder met me at my apartment almost every day after he got off of work to help clean up and repair. I had taken the week off at both he and Skinner’s ‘suggestion.’ Oh well, I had vacation time to burn. I could have joined my mother, but even more than I hadn’t wanted her to worry, I hadn’t wanted to see the look on Bill’s face when they saw my bruises and split lip.

 

So my apartment, once again, more or less resembled the safe haven I call home. It’s strange, how many monsters and mutants have violated my personal space and I still feel safe here. Maybe because the thought of moving every time I was attacked here gave me a headache. Or maybe I found safety not in a place but in a person. No matter how many times these walls were breached, if my own training and will to live failed me, Mulder would be here. One part of me thinks it’s foolish to put that much faith in someone else. The other, the part that has relaxed my eyes on the pages of this book and tugged at the corners of my lips while thinking of him, tells the first voice to be quiet.

 

The phone rings and I feel the sensation of butterflies as I pick up the cordless handset from next to my leg on the couch. I take a breath as my thumb hovers over the answer button, taking a moment to calm myself. I find it all at once ridiculous and amusing that I even feel this way.

 

He kissed me. I’d had had no idea that’s how we would ring in the year 2000. Not that it was that much of a surprise. There had certainly been a shift in our relationship. Slow and nearly imperceptible, but a shift nonetheless. Perhaps it started with the almost kiss in his hallway that summer. I’ve turned it this way and that over in my mind, and it looks different every time. 

 

I had never planned on the two of us kissing in the first place. I remember the first time I met him. I recall standing in front of the basement elevator afterwards, processing that first meeting, excited and anxious about the unknown adventure that laid ahead, squashing down the thought of how handsome he was. After Daniel and after Jack, I decided within ten minutes of meeting Mulder that I would not get romantically involved with anyone in my professional life ever again. Not that Mulder had given me any indication that he found me the least bit attractive, despite his propensity to invade my personal space and look at me with eyes more smoldering than any man I’d ever shared a bed with. I chalked it up to his intense nature, not romantic interest. That speculation was all but validated when I’d dropped my robe for him to examine those marks on my back and he‘d barely touched me, hardly given me more than an investigative glance.

 

He’d let me in, though. Every day after that I realized how uncommon that was for him and I’d wanted to prove time and time again that I deserved that trust. Eventually I learned that he, too, must have decided to keep me at arm’s length based on his past. Phoebe, Diana, maybe even his mother, had all done numbers on him. If he’d had any fleeting thoughts of romance or even just fooling around as early as I had, perhaps he made the same decision as I did for perhaps the same reasons, more or less. I could only speculate. This was Mulder’s field of professional expertise.

 

Looking back now, I can’t decide when he decided to let his guard down. The first few seconds of this year is when he decided to jump. Different than that desperate close encounter that summer I’d almost left him. In hindsight I’d always felt like he was grasping at straws then. This time was just a friendly New Year’s midnight kiss. While not unpleasant, that first kiss was, for lack of a better word, lackluster. It was sweet, but it was a fizzle. The thrill of the unknown passed within moments, and a feeling I couldn’t quite label in that moment came over me. I saw what must have been the same look fall on his face like a veil as his proud, lopsided smile faded.

 

It was not until a few minutes later in the car that I realized what had happened. It had felt, in some strange way, like kissing a stranger. After this many years together, after all we’d been through, I knew the man’s darkest family secrets and his deepest fears. Yet, I didn’t know the little things: the things that don’t matter but somehow  _ matter _ at the same time. Those little, trivial details were exactly the things I didn’t want to talk about for years. I could care for him, fiercely even, as a coworker and a friend. The last thing I needed, however, was to find some little tidbit that made him completely endearing. So when he kissed me, I decided, too much of that wall I (perhaps we) had built up remained. Did I want it to come down? Did he? Was there even room in his life for giving ‘more’ a chance? Or was that just another thing we did, now? Our track record showed that displays of affection were for dire situations. Were holidays included now? I hadn’t gotten that memo.

 

When I’d dropped him off a short time later, he’d hesitated before getting out of the car. I’d asked him if he needed help getting inside and he’d said no. He’d asked me if I would come back over later that day. I’d told him sure, we could get started on our report and he’d smiled at me in a way I’d never seen before, looking down and pulling at the tag or something on the sling holding his injured arm.

 

“No, not for work. Just...come over,” he’d said. Completely endearing. In the early morning hours of January 1, 2000, I physically felt Mulder remove the first brick in that proverbial but altogether real wall. I felt it in my chest and in the first stirrings of the butterflies in my stomach. After all the innuendo over the years, him simply asking me over ‘just because’ had me feeling like a schoolgirl.

 

In the weeks since, he’d asked me out for drinks or dinner after work several times. He didn’t talk shop, instead we talked of trivial things. As I’d feared in the beginning--but to my surprise and with a exhilaration I’d never admit to him--I discovered he was, in fact, endearing. That I knew of his dedication and drive towards our work made it all the more surprising and delightful that he could focus, or perhaps even just let that intensity go for a few hours. 

 

I got a glimpse into the possible future in the few cases we’d investigated during this time. Work was work and our personal lives were just that, ‘and never the twain shall meet,’ I remember thinking. We both still had a job to do but it didn’t always have to be the first priority.

 

Mulder’s voice fills my ears and I realize I’ve been pulled so deep in thought I let him go to the machine. “Hey, Scully. I guess you went--”

 

I press the answer button and put the phone to my ear, nearly dropping it on my chest in the process. “I’m here.”

 

“Oh, hey.”

 

“Hey.” I wonder if he can hear this soft smile in my voice. I cover my mouth with the back of my fingers for a moment, trying to tame it.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Just starting that book I was telling you about.” I use the inside of the flap as a bookmark and close it, looking at the cover.

 

I can hear his sigh over the telephone line. “You know, Scully, I still don’t understand how a classy, educated woman such as yourself can read that garbage written for the masses.”

 

My smile widens. As fun and, dare I say flirty it was, I have no desire to rehash the conversation we’d had over drinks recently. “What are YOU doing, Mulder?”

 

“I’m packing.”

 

“Oh,” I wince at the disappointment I didn’t filter out of my voice. I clear my throat in an attempt to disguise it. “What variety of the unnatural is it this week? Aliens? Crop circles? Killer computers? All of the above?”

 

“I’m going camping.”

 

“Wow…that certainly is unnatural.”

 

“Come with me.”

 

“Mulder…” Today had been the first day I wasn’t entirely sore from my encounter with Pfaster, and also the first day I hadn’t felt the weight of what I’d done. Mulder had been hovering, trying to pull me out of the depths of it for days. I'd needed to work through it on my own, though, and had just finally done so. I had intended to relax, take a minimum of two baths, and maybe invite him over for dinner Sunday night, all before having to report for my mandatory psych eval Monday morning. “Mulder, it’s too cold for camping.”

 

“I’ve had an eye on the forecast all day. They say it will be ‘unseasonably warm.’ Something from the south, which is the direction we’re headed. Come on, we’ll give it a try. And if it’s too cold for you, my fair Scully, maybe I can warm you up.” 

 

I’ve noticed he’s cut way back on the innuendo lately, while we’ve been…spending more time together. Dating? Old fashioned courtship? Anyway, my mouth falls open before I find myself biting the back of my index finger, trying to come up with a response. Damn these butterflies! 

 

“...I mean, I’ll give you an extra blanket. And if it’s still too cold we can ditch the state park and we’ll get a hotel room. Or two.” He’s smiling, I can hear it. “Scully?” There is both persuasion and a plea for salvation in his voice.

 

“Mulder,” I say with less conviction in mine.

 

“You’re coming, aren’t you? Yeah, you’re coming with me. I’ll pick you up at 9. We’ll get breakfast before we head out.”

 

“Mulder…” I say one last time, imagining he'll go off and get distracted by some X-File.

 

I can just picture him stop what he’s doing and sit down on the bed or the couch. “Scully, I just thought it would be good for you to get out of there for the weekend. This place sounds nice. Yes, it will be a bit chilly but going so early in the season,” he chuckles, “or before the season really starts, it’ll be great. Just you, me and nature. No children, no noisy tent neighbors, no mosquitoes…”

 

“All right, Mulder. But I’m not going to chase Sasquatch with you.”

 

“Well you know I think most, if not all, sightings in these parts are hoaxes...but that's beside the point. Bigfoot can stomp right up and invite me to dinner, and I’ll tell him I’m busy. See you in the morning.” He hangs up before I can put up anymore resistance.

 

“That I’d have to see to believe.” I say to myself.


	2. Daytime

I hear the local news on the TV from the living room after I shut off my hair dryer, and Mulder’s voice confirms my suspicions that he’s waiting for me. 

 

“Scully? I let myself in!” 

 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you knock. Coffee’s on, help yourself. Be right out!” I finish my hair, deciding I can do without makeup rather than worrying about removing it later. Satisfied enough with my appearance, I move quickly to my bedroom, pulling on the flannel shirt I had laid out. Already I wore a thermal underwear set over my undergarments, and a comfortable pair of jeans. I had checked the weather and sure enough, more favorable temperatures would be rolling in by the afternoon. However, I was not certain how far south we would be going, at what time we would arrive at our destination and how cold it would be when we got there. So I am prepared, figuring it will be easier to remove unnecessary layers than to have to find them later if they’re needed. 

 

“Are you ready? I stopped for bagels. We’re already late, traffic is a nightmare.” He’s standing in front of the television.

 

“Then I’m glad I got those few extra minutes of sleep. Mulder,  _ what _ are you wearing?” He hardly glances over his shoulder at me entering the living room, paying more attention to Pauline the perky traffic reporter. 

 

“What? Oh. Langly let me borrow it. It’s cool.” He pulls on the lapels of the orange vest he’s wearing as I circle around to look at him from the front. Underneath, he also wears a flannel shirt with blue print. I mean, he’s missing the denim jacket, but…

 

“You look like Marty McFly.”

 

“No I…” he pauses then tilts his head, looking down at himself, palms up. “I guess I do, don’t I?” He glances at me with a crooked smile now. 

 

“Where’s breakfast?” I try to walk away before he sees me smile back. I spot the paper bag on the table. After placing two cups of coffee next to it, I retrieve the cream cheese from the fridge and a butterknife from the drawer. “Do you want orange juice?” I ask as he sits at the table. 

 

“No, just hurry up and eat, Scully, I want to hit the road.”

 

“What, we can’t take the DeLorean?”

 

xxxxx

 

An hour later, we are finally moving at a steady pace, heading into the suburbs. We are soon after slowed by two more traffic jams, however, making Mulder restless. I try to relax, flipping through a Time Magazine I’d snatched up on my way out the door. No doubt, telling him not to worry and that there's no rush will wind him up more. 

 

He aggressively taps the horn, cursing at someone for waiting until now to get over when there had been 2 miles of signage telling the offender his lane was closed for construction. I absentmindedly reach over and rest my hand on his thigh just above his knee. 

 

The gesture seems to tip the scales, tensing me up and halting his restless wiggling. I immediately want to remove it, not sure why I did something so casual to begin with. It’s not that we never touch, we have often enough, just not so nonchalantly. 

 

But to recoil, I think, would feel even more awkward. So I clear my throat and turn the page, my eyes burn a hole through the paper. He quickly flips through the radio stations, even faster than men typically do. Finally at the same time he settles on The Eagles, I clear my throat again for effect before removing my hand from his thigh, making a show of needing both hands to screw the cap off of my water bottle. Now I rubberneck, more interested than usual in the car accident that’s slowed us down. 

 

“You see, that’s what happens when you cut people off at the last minute.” He deadpans.

 

“Yes, that’s what could happen.” I locate a bag of seeds and open them for him, hoping he will relax now that traffic is moving again.

 

xxxxx

 

Two hours later, he pulls over to eat at a roadside diner. He had wanted to save time with a drive-thru, but surrendered after I gave him an uncharacteristic pout. We both order off of the specials menu: white chicken chili for me, classic beef chili for Mulder. He reluctantly admits that it was surprisingly good and he’s glad we stopped. I have to agree.

 

Over our late lunch I grill him on this spur of the moment camping trip, especially on where he got the equipment. All he could or would say while spooning down his meal was that he’d had a lightbulb while he was visiting the Gunmen.

 

An hour or so later, we exit the highway and he stops at an establishment that falsely claims to be a supermarket on its faded sign. The owner should be ashamed but on second thought, this place may just have the widest selection around. 

 

“Probably your last chance to use indoor facilities, Scully.” 

 

He has a way with words.

 

A few minutes later, after I exit the restroom, he asks if I need to make any purchases. 

 

“Uh...what about dinner?” I’m eyeing some premade chicken salad sandwiches rather distastefully. 

 

“We’re stocked up on food. Steaks for tonight, granola bars and the like for breakfast, lunch meat and bread for lunch and hotdogs for dinner-should we decide to stay another night-and all the condiments and trail mix your heart may desire. Well, within reason. I didn’t pack the Grey Poupon.”

 

“Well, that’s just laziness.” Actually, I’m impressed. 

 

“I tried,” he sighs, feigning self depreciation.

 

We stroll toward an endcap set up to display s'mores supplies. On a whim, I stop and pick up a bag of jumbo marshmallows, holding them up in a silent question.

 

“No, I got lazy on that too, I guess.” He places his hands in the pockets of that God-awful vest. 

 

“How could you? Mulder, smell that.” I hold the package up to his nose, reminding me at once of how he’d done the same to me with a baseball once. “It’s perfume. Eau de marshmallow.”

 

He sniffs, then bites his lip to contain his smile. I imagine he remembers the same conversation in which he’d shared with me a glimpse of his childhood before tragedy struck. 

 

“Reminds me of Ahab. All of us camping as we travelled across country to save a few bucks. Wanting to live that way for the rest of my childhood so I didn’t have to start over at a new school.”

 

“All right, Scully,” he briefly places a hand on my shoulder before leaning in to speak. “All you had to do was ask.” We were never too good at opening up for very long.

 

I stop him before he pulls a box of graham crackers and a large Hershey bar off the shelves. “Just the marshmallows.” Those things were too frilly for Ahab, and who am I to break with tradition now? 

 

xxxxx

 

We made it just in time, right before the office closed. I’m standing with the car while Mulder checks us in, looking out over a beautiful lake. The water is so calm and peaceful, I’m tempted to skip rocks on its glasslike surface. 

 

A little ways up the road there are a few cabins, but it looks as if they are all occupied judging by the cars and pickup trucks in each driveway. 

 

The air is crisp, no wind to speak of, but also no sign of any warmer weather blowing in whatsoever. I look toward the office, thinking it will be a cold night indeed if nothing gives. I consider asking Mulder if we can just go with a hotel and try again tomorrow until the manager opens the door for him and he comes out smiling with two large bundles of firewood. There had been signs when we were pulling in that you must buy it here to prevent the spread of invasive species. 

 

He looks so eager, I hate to be a downer. I open the back door and he loads up. 

 

We travel past the cabins and I give one last look at the buildings containing creature comforts. The gravel road meanders to the back side of the lake, through the woods before weaving down by the water where the campsites begin. 

 

“He told us to take our pick. What do you say we go up a little ways, it’s higher ground and it might be a bit warmer under those trees?” He asks as he points up the road. Only about half of the branches above have any green in them, the pine evergreens.

 

“Sounds good,” I agree, so he follows the road to where he had indicated. 

 

After pulling in, we get out and look around quietly. A few crows announce our arrival from somewhere close. Other than that it’s exceptionally quiet with no insects chirping or small mammals rustling through leaves, not to mention truck engines or car alarms to mask the silence. 

 

Mulder looks up at the sky. “Not as much daylight left as I planned on,” he says. “I'll work on setting up camp while you get started on dinner. Or we can reverse roles if you feel I’m being insensitive to you as a woman.”

 

There is not one sexist bone in my partner’s body, so I let the comment slide. “I can live with that.”

 

After we unpack the car, separating food and cooking items from everything else, I am at the picnic table sorting through what I’ve got to work with. I am surprised to find many things I would have thought of, and a few extras. 

 

Then again, for three guys whose job it is to imagine or uncover and then publish every which way civilization could collapse, I shouldn’t be surprised they are prepared for survival. 

 

Among the plentiful, albeit mostly unused supplies, I find a small grate to cook our steaks on. I’m grateful, no pun intended, when I look towards the fire pit and see the rusty one provided by the park. 

 

That’s when I notice Mulder digging through a couple of bags and producing some matches. I quietly walk over and before he can say anything, completely rearrange the firewood he’s haphazardly placed in the pit. I feel his eyes on me as I retreat to the tree line for a moment and gather up some kindling, then return and take the box from his hand. I kneel down and start the fire, nursing it until it’s safe to leave alone.

 

I rise and hand him the matches, walking past him towards the picnic table to return to my other duties. 

 

I smile over my shoulder when he mutters, “Thanks, partner.”

 

Standing over the table with my hands on my hips, looking over what must be dinner tonight, steak and potatoes, I resist the urge to nag him that there is nothing green to be had to eat this weekend. 

 

I jump slightly when he rests a hand on my shoulder and lays a couple of produce bags containing zucchini and yellow squash down as if in offering. “These tried to escape, just found them on the floorboard.”

 

I shake my head, laughing softly at his perfect timing. 

 

“What?” He asks.

 

“Nothing.” 

 

He raises his eyebrows, then squeezes my shoulder before returning to his duties after deciding I won’t clue him in on my thoughts.

 

A while later, I’ve seasoned steaks, peeled, rinsed and chopped the potatoes and vegetables. I am almost ready to begin grilling so I tend to the fire. 

 

Mulder has almost got the tent set up. It’s laid out with the bars through the appropriate holes and he asks for some help erecting it and staking it in the ground. Once that’s finished, he unzips the door and unrolls the sleeping pad. I almost question why the Gunmen would need double size bedding, but opt not to. 

 

I am about to return to dinner prep when he unrolls the sleeping bags, so I stop to tell him, “It may be a bit warmer if you zip those together.”

 

He looks at me a moment, then smiles widely as he does what I’d suggested. “Scully wants to cuddle,” he sings.

 

I am walking away so he can’t see my face flush. “You sound like Trent,” I try to sound as dismissive as possible.

 

“Who?”

 

I face him again with a hand on my hip, “You can remember details from cases eons ago, before you were born even, but you can’t remember my godson.”

 

“Oh, Trent, of course I remember. I met him at his house after hunting you down when you had forgotten to sign your report on the Sheriff Hartwell case. His mother had a family emergency out of state and asked you to watch him so he didn’t have to miss school.” Trent hadn’t understood that single grownups could have single adult friends of the opposite sex that weren’t their significant other. He’d chanted the rest of the day that I had a boyfriend.

 

I am impressed, but equally annoyed at the ridiculous accent and face Mulder pulled when talking about the Chaney, Texas lawman. “Shut up, Mulder.”

 

I thought for a moment that might have been too harsh before I glance over at him on the way to the grill with food in my hands, and find him smiling to himself. 

 

xxxxx

 

“This is really good, Scully. These potatoes are great.”

 

I had chopped them up and grilled them in foil with just a little water to steam them, rather than waiting for the whole spuds to cook, adding butter, cheese and sour cream just before serving. “Ahab used to make them in a big pot so we couldn’t all be picky about what we wanted on our individual potatoes.”

 

“I can imagine, four stubborn kids with their own likes and dislikes.”

 

“The friend that taught him the technique called them ranch potatoes. We’re missing the chives and bacon.”

 

“Mmm...and this steak is perfect. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat steak, Scully,” he says with his mouth half full, watching me take a bite. “Ribs, once.”

 

“Thank you, and you’re right, it’s a rare treat.” I resist the urge to ask him when was the last time he had his cholesterol checked. 

 

“No pun intended?”

 

I roll my eyes before smiling at him. We eat the rest of our dinner quietly.


	3. Nighttime

A while later, after we’ve finished cleaning up, I tend to the fire again. He’s loading up the food back into the car. We both know that bears could be and probably are already out of hibernation now that it’s above freezing. It’s almost completely dark. 

 

“It all worked out,” he says while moving the small seats that resemble stools more than chairs closer to the fire. “Despite the late start and all the traffic.” 

 

“Yes, it did,” I reply, sitting down and holding my hands out to the fire. I’d put on a coat. It must be around 40 or 45 degrees.

 

He hands me the marshmallows and a couple of short, thick sticks with bark hanging off of them before settling down next to me. I set them down and hold out my hand. “Give me the light.”

 

I walk off to the woods, then return with two sticks more suited for roasting marshmallows, longer and thinner than the ones he’d offered. 

 

When I sit and hand him one, he sighs and turns it between his fingers. “Don’t think I’d have made it out here without you, Scully. In fact, I wasn’t going to come if you didn’t.”

 

“I thought you were an Indian Guide.” I’d been curious all evening, but only felt comfortable enough asking just now. 

 

“Yeah...um, Mom signed Dad and I up not long after Samantha was taken, thinking it would be a great way for us to bond. Really, he just bought me all the literature, took me to a few meetings. I read everything but only participated enough to get one or two badges. I dropped out before summer.”

 

I don’t really know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. I open the bag and place a marshmallow on the end of each of our sticks. He follows my lead and puts his over the fire, but rather than holding it up over the flames, his goes right for them.

 

“No, Mulder, that’s too close.” He tries to keep it up higher but before long his marshmallow is on fire. He brings it out and blows on it. When it doesn’t go out he blows again, and I can’t help but laugh. 

 

He grimaces, peeling the charred outer shell off and throwing it back into the fire. He pulls what’s left off and eats it, licking his fingers now. 

 

“Have you really never done this?” I ask, trying not to laugh anymore.

 

“Well, Scully, as I just said, I never went on any Indian Guide trips. Consider that, and mix in a healthy fear of fire, and no, can’t say I ever have.” He turns to look at me for just a moment, even in the near darkness I see his sadness.

 

Well, crap. “Geez, Mulder, I’m sorry.”

 

“Hey, it’s ok. I’ve got you now.” He rests his hand on my knee, like I had him earlier in the car. 

 

I look at his hand, then at my marshmallow turning over and over above the flames, still feeling pretty cruddy about it. 

 

“Really,” he says, moving his hand to rub my back for a moment. 

 

“Here…” I pull my marshmallow away from the fire and offer it to him. He pulls it off of the stick and, after examining it for a moment then blowing on it cautiously, pops it in his mouth.

 

“Oh, damn.” He looks at me, surprised, before closing his eyes and savoring before chewing and swallowing. 

 

I gulp, secretly delighted by how much he enjoyed it. Also privately, excited by how he savored it.

 

I shiver, which he may have noticed when he opens his eyes. My face feels hot, and I can only hope that he doesn’t see as much in the dim firelight. I offer him another marshmallow for a second attempt. 

 

“Maybe in a minute. Be right back.” He trots off to the woods without the lantern, presumably to relieve himself.

 

So I put both of the marshmallows on my stick and begin toasting them.

 

When he returns a minute later, he’s moving his stool behind me. 

 

“What are you doing?” I watch him until he is out of sight.

 

“You’re cold, aren’t you?” I attribute the knowing tone in his voice to paranoia on my part.

 

“Maybe a little.” 

 

Without another word, he scoots up behind me, one thigh on each side of my hips. After a moment, I lean back, actually appreciating his warmth. 

 

He rubs his hands up and down my upper arms over my coat. “Sorry, Scully. That warmer weather didn’t show...obviously. Damn the meteorologists.”

 

“That’s ok.” I turn the stick over and over.

 

“Wanna give up and get that hotel?”

 

“Not yet.” This is nice.

 

He rests his chin on my shoulder, watches me cook our marshmallows, and we are quiet for a minute. When they are done, I pull the first one off and offer it to him. Always doing the unexpected, he takes my wrist and eats it right out of my hand. I feel his lips close over my fingertip for just a second and simultaneously feel a jolt in my stomach. 

 

“You’re really good at this. You can make mine from here on out.” 

 

I only nod and eat my marshmallow but I don’t really taste it. He declines when I ask him if he wants another, so I lie my stick down and close up the bag. 

 

A moment later as I’m staring into the fire wondering how long we can stay like this, I feel him lift his chin from my shoulder and deduce from the way he leans back he must be looking up at the stars. 

 

“Wow,” I say, when I do the same. 

 

“Mmm,” is his only reply, and I’m surprised by his silence. I half expect him to start naming constellations, telling me untraditional stories behind them, or even to just let me know when the last UFO sighting occurred in these parts.

 

My mind drifts to another time we watched the stars, after he’d shown me how to hit a baseball.  He’d sent the kid home with two twenties in his pocket and a smile from ear to ear when his mother showed to pick him up . We’d collected the balls, then laid on the grass near second base. I’d known that when he called me to the office that morning, it was for no other reason than to check up on me after nearly having my heart ripped out of my chest. And then he’d bailed on me, but had in his own way tried to make it up to me with baseball. Suddenly, I begin to realize that’s what this trip has been about. In his roundabout way, he’s taking care of me after these traumas. He’s very good at profiling, this one. I wouldn’t have let him look after me, had he been more direct about it.

 

When I see a meteor streak across the sky, I gasp and turn to glance at him over my shoulder. “Did you see--?”

 

“Yeah,” he’s looking back at me. 

 

I smile and turn to look at the stars again, and when I don’t feel him return his gaze to the sky I turn to face him once more. 

 

“Did you make a wish?” Immediately I think of how foolish that question is. 

 

But he only smiles and averts his eyes for just a moment before replying, “wishes are kind of redundant when you’re already with your favorite person.”

 

It takes a moment for that to register, but when it does, my head seems to spin a little and I rather feel like I’ve been swept off my feet. It’s a sensation I can’t say I’ve ever felt and one I never even considered I would experience. 

 

I’m quite lost for words but he doesn’t seem to expect me to say anything. He only moves a hand to my chin and turns my face so he can see me a little better, and I him. I lean and turn my shoulders to the side to better do so. 

 

In his eyes, I see the fire reflected and not much else. Then again, I can see everything this man is and everything he thinks that I am. And now there’s another fire altogether.

 

God, sometimes it strikes me how much I really do love him. That much is obvious to me, must be to him and hell, probably even to Skinner who can see how hellbent I am to move heaven and earth when Mulder is in danger. 

 

Then, sometimes, it strikes me how attractive he is and how attracted I am to him. After all, I’m a single woman with normal sexual urges working next to an above average looking single man. But I almost never let those feelings break the surface, rarely with myself and never around him.

 

Tonight, and maybe for the first time, I feel love and lust simultaneously. 

 

And when I come to this realization is just when he crooks his finger up under my chin as if to say ‘come here.’

 

So I tilt my head and close my eyes, letting him put his lips to mine.

 

God, they are so much warmer than I remember. We don’t have much room to deepen the kiss at this angle, but it somehow is still  _ more _ than New Year’s. His hand moves away from my chin, over my cheekbone and into my hair, sending a shiver through me with his tenderness. 

 

When he pulls away to look at me again, we’re both breathing a little faster than before.

 

“Let’s go to bed, Mulder,” I whisper. 

 

He searches my eyes with his for just a moment and I nod, so he stands and helps me do the same. 

 

Before heading that way, I kill the flames on the fire, leaving it so that it can be easily relit tomorrow. 

 

When I climb in the tent, I tell him “just a minute,” digging in my bag for something and sticking it in my pocket before exiting again, telling him I’ll be right back.

 

I take the lantern and toilet paper into the trees and after relieving myself, freshen up with the wipes I’d just stuck in my pocket. 

 

When I return he’s standing by the tent just watching the stars, as if he’d been reluctant to go in without me. I remove my coat and flannel shirt, handing them off for him to tuck away in the tent. 

 

While I remove my boots and jeans, he takes his gun and places it just inside the door. I’d left mine locked in the glove compartment when we arrived, but he’d kept his. 

 

Now that I’m stripped down to my last layer, the long underwear set and a thick pair of socks, I enter the tent and get into the sleeping bag, lying on my back. He removes a few layers himself, tossing boots, jeans, the vest-finally-and his flannel shirt. Once inside, he puts the lantern on the floor on his side of the ‘bed’ then zips closed the opening behind him. He reaches over me and rifles through his bag for a pair of flannel pajama pants, pulling them on clumsily in this cramped space, over his boxers. He also wears a long sleeved black shirt.

 

He had started up the small tent heater that he’d brought along a while ago, but it’s done little to warm the tent, at best only rising the temperature just above unbearable. I roll to my side and curl up, anticipating his warmth behind me.

 

Peeking over my shoulder, I watch him reach behind him and click off the lantern after lying on his side facing me. 

 

I lie there, trying to slow my racing thoughts. Not ten minutes ago, I’d been sure something was about to happen between us. Had we been at home and had he kissed me, looked at me like that, I’m pretty sure we’d already be tangled up in one of our beds. But between going to the bathroom in the woods and getting situated in this confined area, I question what had even happened out there. 

 

Wanting more warmth, I move back toward him. He moves toward me too and cautiously places his hand on my hip. I scoot some more, so that my back is flush with his chest. He moves his head closer, so that his nose is there in my hair, right against my scalp, maybe for warmth. When he inhales, then sighs deeply, I feel the waves of pleasure ripple through every part of me. When he does it again, and moves his hand to my stomach, I wonder if he feels it too. And with his thumb so near my breast, if he would move it just so, when he ever so slightly moves his hips back I know that he does. 

 

Just like that, with every inch of me he touches feeling like liquid goo, the mood is back. There is no way that I could get any rest now. It’s either lie here failing to sleep all night, get a hotel or give in to these urges. 

 

Option C is obviously the most gratifying.

 

“Mulder?” 

 

“Hmm,” he answers quickly, moving his hand to the more neutral territory of my hip as if he’s crossed a line. If he only knew what I have in mind.

 

“Remember when you told me how you’d heard the best way to regenerate body heat?” Of course I know this is ridiculous. That is sometimes a method used for hypothermia victims, but for two adults just trying to sleep, layers would be more effective. But they sure do get in the way of other activities. 

 

“Are you for real, Scully?” His voice is almost comically skeptical, yet hopeful.

 

“Yeah...yes.” I place my hand over his and give it a gentle squeeze before guiding it up under my shirt to return it to where it was.

 

He tugs on my top, indicating he wants to remove it. I roll onto my back and after we both sit up. I raise my arms as he pulls it up over my head. When that’s done, he moves his hand to my hip. After nuzzling the hair at my temple with his nose, he brushes the backs of his knuckles over the button of my pants, subtly asking if I’m ready for them to follow. 

 

“I got it,” I say as I begin to remove them. “Quid pro quo, Mulder,” I say as I remove every stitch of clothing I wore except for my socks, unable to part with those.

 

We make quick work, returning to face each other in our bedding. I warm my hands by blowing into them. 

 

I know he’s waiting on me, he’d wait on me all night and wouldn’t touch me if I happened to fall asleep, which I have no plans of. When I’ve stopped shivering, I reach out blindly until I make contact with his chest. I feel him stop breathing, and also sense his pounding heart. 

 

My hand makes its way up to his neck, fingers moving over bones and tendons. Then down again, scratching through that patch of hair. Not too much, not too little. Perfect. Further down, smoothing my palm over muscles and skin. He inhales sharply, unable to hold his breath any longer. 

 

Scratching again through more hair now, until my fingertips hover between his torso and this incredible warmth. My back is cold, almost every part of me is, and I just want to curl up in the heat there. 

 

When I finally touch him again, three fingertips brush his shaft feather lightly. It twitches away from me before returning and growing harder and longer. He is shuddering and I deduce it’s not entirely from the cold. 

 

I run the pads of my fingers down to the base of it, circle them around to the underside where it meets his testicles, then slowly up and up, getting a full sense of the length of him. My own sex responds the further I go, blood rushing in and engorging, lubricating fluids dripping out of me. 

 

When my fingers make it to the most sensitive patch of skin just under his head, they circle around it, still barely touching him, gauging the thickness of him now that I know his length. When I have him enclosed in my hand, I stroke down, not applying much pressure at all. 

 

His penis is twitching constantly in my hands, begging me to apply more pressure in ways that his mouth can’t or won’t. My core responds to every movement, yearning for what my hand holds. 

 

The male erection, a curiosity to me that I rarely get to study. How it goes from flaccid, almost pathetic looking to something so beautiful and powerful. Silky skin on the outside sliding over a second layer of blood filled corpora cavernosa, arteries. The contradiction of soft and hard, all right here in this one organ. Past lovers have all benefited from my wonder over this particular piece of male anatomy. 

 

While I’ve been softly caressing his manhood, his fingers have been similarly stroking my arms, but now his fingers are in my hair and he goes to move over me. 

 

The spell is broken. In a flash through the darkness, I see the face of Donnie Pfaster.  _ No _ , I think, and urge Mulder onto his back. “Like this,” I tell him. It has been two nights since I’d had a nightmare, but now I see that the terrifying experience hasn’t completely left me. 

 

So I straddle him, pushing the top sleeping bag away. I hold his penis in my hand and guide him to rub against my clit. But I am gasping for breath, still shaken by my vision and also realizing that I am about to have sex with my partner, and I’m wondering how we got here so fast.

 

“ _ Mulder, _ ” I whisper, releasing him from my shaky hand.

 

Quickly, sensing my distress, he clicks on the lantern. He sits up so that we are face to face and and, after squinting from sudden assault, my eyes are wide and on his face. The light really isn’t very bright, but it’s just enough to make out his familiar features.

 

“Scully, hey…” he hesitates before his hands make contact with my face, silently seeking permission before he touches me. “Hey,” he says again, just loud enough so I can hear him, as his hands smooth my hair before his thumbs stroke my cheekbones. 

 

My hands seek out his wrists, taking comfort as my eyes close. My breath immediately slows. “I’m sorry…”

 

“Hey,” he repeats once more, gently shaking my head once as if to tell me  _ stop it _ . “Will you look at me?”

 

So I do. He takes a moment to read my expression before nodding as if to say he understands. “Scully, if you don’t want this-”

 

“I did,” I swallow past the lump in my throat, fighting back tears.

 

“Ok..if you don’t want this now-” 

 

I shake my head, implying he’s got it wrong, “It’s just..I don’t know.”

 

He kisses my forehead. “Talk to me.”

 

I sigh. “I saw him. For just a second, I saw Pfaster.” 

 

“Jesus,” he winces before moving his arms around my neck. 

 

I hug him back, paying no mind to the nakedness between us. With my face buried in the crook of his neck, I breathe in his scent and am calmed by his tenderness. 

 

“Scully,  _ I’m _ sorry.”

 

“No. I wanted this. I want this. And I don’t want him, or anybody to take one more thing from me.” I rest my hands on his shoulders and rise on my knees to look down at him again.

 

His hands return to my face, stroking my cheeks once more. “If you want to wait, that’s fine.” He kisses my forehead. “Or if this is just, you know, to feel this so you forget that...I can live with that too.” Now my nose. “Or even if this is something else, something more, I want that too. I want what you want. Whatever it is. Just know that nothing will change the way I feel about you.” He’s saying this with his mouth near mine.

 

“How do you feel about me?” I can’t help but ask in my vulnerable state.

 

“Scully, you don’t know?” I think I had expected him to kiss me, so I am surprised when he pulls back enough to look into my eyes again. He’s smiling as if I’ve just asked him if he believes in the paranormal, as if it should be as obvious as that but he still tries to find the words. “I feel everything for you...”

 

Now Pfaster and fear are the furthest things from my mind. Love and lust drive me once more as I kiss him. On my knees over him, my tongue makes contact with his. I taste marshmallows and steak. I mentally apologize for the large amount of zucchini I’d consumed, wishing I would have at least gargled a capful of mouthwash until his fingers are in my hair and on my back and I forget it all. 

 

I realize that this is the first kiss of its kind between us, and I had been about to take him inside me minutes ago. That would be us, trying to do things all out of order. 

 

“What?” I hadn’t realized I had laughed until he returns a soft chuckle into my mouth. 

 

I shake my head, reaching between us, wanting him inside me more than before.

 

He twitches again when I touch him, almost immediately fully erect once more. I take one last moment to feel him in my hand again before guiding him to me. I’m more than ready, and the engorged head slips right through my swollen folds and to my waiting opening. 

 

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take much effort to accommodate him, my body more welcoming than any time before. When the gap begins to close between us, as I take him further and further inside, I release him and my right hand mirrors the left, resting on his shoulder. 

 

“Oh my God,” I gasp a few times. I rest my forehead on his, gripping him as, inch by inch, I slide onto him.

 

His hands are splayed across my back, the pads of his fingers fluttering lightly, gently coaxing me on. 

 

My hips finally halt their descent, unable to go any further unless I adjust my knees, but I’m unsure if I can take one more inch. I’m quivering, wondering if I will even be able to relax enough for the rest. It feels amazing but also, as if every nerve ending in my body is feeling too much. I need to take a few deep breaths and adjust to what I have taken inside me before I can begin to move again. 

 

I move my hands under his arms, around to his back and lower my head so that we’re cheek to cheek, looking at the wall of the tent behind him. I fill my lungs and exhale over and over again. I close my eyes, taking comfort in him stroking my back up and down with his knuckles. I smooth my hands over the muscles beneath my palms, reciting each one, caressing him in ways I might have imagined alone in my bed just once or twice. That’s it.

 

I jump when I hear a tapping noise, then another. We’re both looking around before we realize it’s rain drops hitting the tent. 

 

“Weather’s finally changing,” he mumbles into my skin before kissing my shoulder softly, resuming his ministrations on my back. 

 

“Yes, it is.” 

 

My fingers are moving down his vertebrae. It is when I am between L4 and L5 and my thoughts stray to practicing lumbar punctures during my residency that I relax and take the rest of him inside of me. 

 

The pleasured groan that escapes his throat is something I hope to never forget. He grows impossibly harder inside me, filling every last void and I can feel my heartbeat in places around him.

 

I contract my leg muscles, then relax. That felt wonderful so I do it once more, swiveling my hips this time.

 

After sucking in a breath through his teeth he starts talking. “Holy hell, Scully are you… Christ I can feel you getting hotter. You feel sooo good.” 

 

As he rambles on, I simultaneously want him to shut up and never stop talking. 

 

But he does quit and now I think I much prefer this, his luscious mouth kissing my neck. One hand is low on my back, near my tailbone, nearly cupping my ass and helping to hold me close every time I grind down onto him. The other roams up my back, softly caressing here and there before it’s tangled in my hair to pull me close so his lips are on mine again. 

 

His tongue moves in tandem with the rhythm of my hips and it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt when I change it up so that I can grind my pubic bone on him and he begins to flex at just the right moments.

 

My mouth leaves our kiss so abruptly that I nearly bite his lip when my orgasm takes me by surprise. I find one of my hands in his hair and I hope I’m not pulling too hard. My hips rock, grind and swivel of their own accord as I ride it out and I realize I’m chanting his name into one long word, “Muldermuldermuldermulder…”

 

Finally, my thrusts slow but my fingers can’t keep still where they were squeezing his back as I come down. 

 

“God damn, Scully...really.” His fingers, in my hair and on my back, rub soothing circles. I feel especially vulnerable and delicate, more so than I ever desired to feel with anyone, particularly Mulder, but it is decidedly wonderful.

 

I listen to the rain. It’s more of a drizzle, probably moisture from the south causing the air to become saturated and the drops are from water collecting on the trees until it falls. 

 

Once my heart and lungs are nearly back to normal, I recline back just enough to look into his eyes. 

 

“Did I say ‘God damn?’ Cause damn…” 

 

I laugh, trying to smooth down his hair. 

 

“Mmm, stop. I’m keeping it like this all weekend. In fact, I might even go to work like this on Monday,” he says, ducking away from my hand. 

 

“Mulder,” I say, surprisingly demurely. 

 

“Scully,” he growls my name in such a way that my vagina responds to, not so demurely. “Mmm, I felt that.” 

 

He holds me to him and stretches out his legs behind me, sighing with relief. 

 

I urge him by his shoulders to lie back. Looking down upon him, trying to make out his face, I’m keenly aware that the batteries in our lantern are dying out completely. I no longer need to see him, though, no longer need to see his eyes to know it’s not the cold hands of last week’s assailant on me.

 

No, now, familiar hands exploratorily caress my skin in unfamiliar places. As his fingers roam, I listen to his breathing and try to imagine his facial expressions. He holds my hips down for a moment, indicating he’d like me still while he wanders. His fingertips then journey down my thighs, back over my hips, up my ribs. My breath hitches when his hands disappear and I think he is about to fondle my breasts. 

 

However, they reappear at my clavicles, trailing the length of each before he runs his fingertips feather lightly from beneath my jaw, down my chest only just down to the swell of my breasts before disappearing again. 

 

When I whimper his name, he tenses beneath me. Try as I might, I can’t imagine the look in his eyes but I do imagine it’s probably more arousing than his panic face. 

 

One of his hands reappears on the back of my head, urging me down to where he’s propped up, waiting for my kiss. It’s clumsy at first, in this darkness, but swiftly more erotic than I can bear. 

 

Soon enough, my own fingers are on either side of his head, gripping handfuls of bedding as I move over him. He lies back when we both need our mouths for breathing, and finally, unexpectedly his right hand fondles my left breast. I flinch away at first, but then cover his hand with mine showing him how much pressure to apply. 

 

But he brushes my hand away, nearly swatting as if I were a bothersome fly. “Yes!” I gasp when he unexpectedly tweaks my nipple. 

 

“I know what I’m doing.”

 

I don’t bother with trying to form the words in my state, Mulder’s fingers working magic, my hips dancing over him in response, but I do give him a sarcastic chuckle and cover his lips for a moment as if to say ‘Shut up, Mulder.’

 

He’s got me fully distracted and I miss his hand leaving my hip and snaking around between us. When his first two fingers make contact with my clit as I thrust down once, I nearly yelp and recoil. 

 

“Sorry,” he says through clenched teeth, quitting his ministrations on my breast and resting that hand comfortingly on my shoulder. 

 

“No.” Why must he always assume the worst? “Your fingers got cold,” I say, finding that hand and bringing it up to my face, “and maybe you don’t know, but that’s an extremely sensitive part of the female anatomy, Mulder.” I whisper his name before wrapping my lips around his fingers, sucking on them as my hips resume their slow movements. 

 

“ _ Jesusfuckingchrist”  _ he whimpers, I’ve surprised him for once. I suck harder and my hips respond to his arousal and I ride him faster. “Fuuu...sorry, but just  _ fuck _ ,” he says breathlessly as his fingers curl up and stroke the roof of my mouth.

 

I moan around them, imagine him fingering another part of me. 

 

“Warm enough?” He asks impatiently.   
  


“Un-unh.” I grip his forearm for emphasis, sucking his digits deeper inside as I spread my legs and grind down further on him. 

 

His whole body reacts, from beginning to thrust fingers into my mouth to holding my hips, moving his own, trying to keep a steady rhythm.

 

When I can take the anticipation no longer, I release his fingers and guide his hand down once more. He strokes once, experimentally. When I sigh his name in encouragement, he quickly picks up the pace. In no time at all he is touching me  _ just _ right, and were I not suddenly again on the verge of orgasm, I would have to wonder how he does it so easily. 

 

“Scully…” it’s as if the pure emotion in his voice, the want, lust, love, simultaneous patience and urgency all at once tunnel into my ears and burrough straight for the pleasure center in my brain and I explode in a burst of light. 

 

Moments later I lie on his chest, sated and spent. I am vaguely aware that he’s come also, though I hardly remember, mine had been that intense. 

 

He strokes my hair as we catch our breaths, before finally murmuring into my temple, “those guys are never going to understand why I’m going to bitch them out for giving me a lantern with nearly dead batteries.”

 

I can’t stop the chuckle that escapes, and don’t have to contain my toothy grin in the dark as I rise enough to look down where his face should be. I’m not sure I’d even try, had there still been enough light. 

 

We are quiet for another few moments when he brushes my hand away after realizing I’m trying to finger comb his hair again. 

 

“Maybe they’ll get it if I go with my hair like this.” 

 

“Mulder!”

 

My grin must be evident in my voice, because he laughs as he pulls me closer. He misses a couple of times before he holds my face and finds my lips with his, brushing them over mine in one last fleeting kiss. 

 

Now he holds my hips, keeping us joined where he is nearly flaccid inside me. “Here,” he says, blindly finding my hand in the dark. I sit up and feel what he’s given me, his boxers. “For...you know.”

 

Our spare flashlights, let alone towels, would take some digging, and these must do for now.

 

“Yeah.” So I awkwardly move them between us, doing a quick cleanup of the both of us before balling them up and putting them with my own clothes. 

 

A few moments later, after we’ve blindly resituated our bedding and laid down on our respective sides, he hesitantly rests a hand on my hip, just as he had when we’d first laid down. 

 

Smiling to myself, I exaggerate a shiver, and back up all the way to him. 

 

He sounds happy with this, judging by the sound of approval he moans into my hair. 

 

I don’t remember much after that, as I fell quickly into the most sound sleep I’ve had in over a week.


	4. Prologue

When I wake the next morning, I can hear a few birds singing. Not near as much as I imagine might be here in spring, but decidedly more than we heard yesterday. 

I revel in the feeling of my partner’s strong arm draped over me until my bladder will allow it no longer. As gently as I can, I lift it by his wrist and rest it on his hip so that I can move around without disturbing him.

I pull on his long sleeved black shirt and decide that it’s long enough for a quick trip to the woods, permitting we still have no neighbors. After peeking my head out of the tent I discover that we don’t. There is a damp chill in the air, but it is decidedly warmer than yesterday. I make a beeline for the trees, toilet paper in hand, and do my business. 

Upon returning to the tent, I find Mulder climbing between the sleeping bags as if he’s just been up too. I catch a glimpse of his bare ass. 

“Did you just come out here naked, Mulder?”

“So? Just don’t walk behind the tent,” he deadpans.

After kicking off my unlaced boots and securing the zipper door again, I return to my side of the ‘bed’. “Warm me up,” I request, spooning up with him again.

“Mmhmm,” he growls suggestively so that I have to giggle into my pillow where I’ve buried my nose for warmth. 

He takes the hand that I don’t have buried beneath said pillow, and holds it until my fingers are an acceptable temperature. 

We are both quiet for a time in comfortable silence. It’s not quite awkward, but I’m sure he is as unsure as I am as to where to go from here. 

Until he subtly backs his hips away, but not before I felt his erection growing. 

“Good morning, Mulder,” I say, perhaps more seductively than I’d intended. 

“Scully,” he mumbles in reply, moving his hand up over my side, over his shirt in a non-platonic yet still innocent enough caress.

But on his next pass, after I’ve backed my hips into his and he’s moaned his approval, he’s less cautious than before and presses down more so that the shirt is pulled up by his hand. I rise enough so that it isn’t hung up under me and the fabric is gathered around my breasts. Now that our single barrier is gone, we are skin on skin below the waist. 

He moves his hand to my hip, holding me still while he adjusts so that he is cradled between my cheeks. 

“You feel...so good…” he mumbles into my hair, nuzzling after he’s situated himself. “Is this ok?” He asks, snaking his hand up my abdomen. 

“Yes,” I pant, not even caring if I sound like I’m begging for more. 

“I want to say something, but I feel like I should ask you something else before I do.” His fingers are playfully pushing away the balled up fabric of his shirt, teasing the underside of my breast. 

“What?” Keepgoing, keepgoing!

“Well I just, oh God--” that’s in response to me pushing my ass back against him. “Mmm, umm, oh, I just...uhh,” he clears his throat and reveals more of my neck, softly biting in retaliation. I don’t know what his intended effect had been, but what does happen is that I press my buttocks into him harder, moan and press my skin into his mouth. 

He moans in reply, sucks on my neck and flexes his hips so that he’s pressing more fully into me. 

When he finally takes a breast into his hand I smile to myself, finding triumph in the fact that I may have just distracted Fox Mulder from his train of thought. To test that theory I roll over on to my front slightly, opening myself to him, practically begging him to take me. 

He moves a hand between my legs, runs a finger over me to test my wetness and we are both distracted as he lingers, exploring. But when he takes himself into his hand and guides the head of his cock to my waiting opening, I stop him by tilting my hips away from him for just a moment and asking, “You had a question for me?” 

He grunts in frustration, rambling. “Jesus, uh...I was going to say, ‘I can’t wait until we get home and I can really see and touch you,’ and I mean see every part of you in a nice warm bed, but then I thought that that really depended on if we’re going to do this at home. I didn’t want to assume, so I was going to ask you, but can we please just talk about that later?”

I have to think about that for a moment, I don’t want to make a decision in the heat of the moment, but I feel it’s something that should be addressed, now that he’s said it. But God, it’s hard to concentrate when he’s behind me, wanting me so badly I feel him stroking himself. 

“I can’t say exactly what’s going to happen, but I think it’s remotely plausible this might happen again.” 

“Good,” he sighs. I had expected him to talk about it, at least a moment more because that’s all Mulder ever does is talk, so I am pleasantly surprised when he finds his goal again and pushes inside me. 

After three quick thrusts, he’s in to the hilt and panting in relief at my ear. 

“Mulderpleasedon’tstop,” I whimper, already trembling.

“Oh yeah, already, Scully?” He obliges, pulling on a nipple, then moving his hand down to stroke my clit.. 

“Right th...no,” I thought he’d found the spot but hadn’t, so I adjust my hips, press his fingers with mine on my clit and demand, “harder.” He takes direction well, giving it all he’s got. When he can’t seem to find the right angle and I am still just quivering in his arms, he rolls us over so that he hovers above my back. My torso is raised just inches above the sleeping bag, supported only by my elbows and knees. 

For a moment, I feel trapped am about to object until he nuzzles the nape of my neck, pulls nearly all the way out and thrusts fully into me again, beckoning me with his strained voice. “Come on, Scully.” 

“Yeah, right there. Oh my GOD.” I’m convulsing beneath him, having the single biggest orgasm of my life, and I just keep coming as he thrusts into me over and over, supported up by his elbows and knees on either side of mine. “Jesus Christ!” I exclaim when I finally begin to come down until he is coming, thrusting harder and faster . I come again, just as powerfully as before. 

xxxxx

Half an hour later we’re at the picnic table across from one another. We are both in jeans, long sleeved t-shirts, unbuttoned flannel shirts and boots. Today would have been the day to arrive here, but I decide that I had a better night here than I would have had at home.

Though we each had a short grooming session, brushing our teeth and cleaning up with wipes, he still hasn’t combed his hair, and had caught me before I sneakily tried to do so with my fingers. 

After digging through the bag, he presents me with the two flavors of granola bars. I choose, and we have our breakfast. 

I smile at him with an embarrassing shyness when I catch him looking at me, after coming back from a daydream where I’d been staring across the lake. But where I expect him to laugh or even tease me, the enamored look he returns to me takes my breath away.

I know I must be blushing, and after smiling knowingly, he lets me off the hook. 

“Want to go fishing today?”

“Actually, Mulder, I think I’d rather go home.” I say, opening up a package of trail mix and digging for some raisins. 

“Oh, ok.” He fails at masking his disappointment, if he even tried. 

“This has been great, and I think I’d even like to do it again some time,” I say, digging through the trail mix again, “but didn’t you have some other plans at home tonight?” I ask coyly.

“No, I didn’t say th--” he’s confused until he glances at me, suddenly no longer interested in the trail mix. “Oh, those plans. Let’s go, now. Forget the tent. I’ll buy ‘em a new one,” he quips, obviously joking.

After answering my toothy grin with a smoldering look of his own, he gets up and begins packing up camp. 

“You ever hear the one about having sex while camping, Scully?” he asks after tossing his bag out, poking his head out from the tent to make sure I’m listening. 

“No, I haven’t.”

“It’s fucking in tents.” He wags his eyebrows and disappears after watching me try not to laugh. 

Oh, and it was, but I shiver in anticipation of what’s to come.


End file.
